Mahatma Gandhi's autobiography Sathiya Sodhani is one book which guides you as to what is right and wrong. Most importantly, the author should have experienced all these. The original was in Gujarati, and was later translated into English and other Indian languages. The book is in five parts, beginning with his birth, up until the year 1921. In the last chapter he writes, "My life from this point onward has been so public that there is hardly anything about it that people do not know...."
The introduction reads, "What I want to achieve - what I have been striving and pining to achieve these thirty years - is self-realization, to see God face to face, to attain Moksha. I live and move and have my being in pursuit of this goal."
The paper back edition of the book costs Rs. 30 being subsidized by the Navajivan Trust, Ahmedabad.
On the very day after my brother-in-law's death I had to go to Bombay
for the public meeting. There had hardly been time for me to think
out my speech. I was feeling exhausted after days and nights of
anxious vigil, and my voice had become husky. However, I went to
Bombay trusting entirely to God. I had never dreamt of writing out
my speech.
In accordance with Sir Pherozeshah's instructions I reported myself
at his office at 5 P. M. on the eve of the meeting.
'Is your speech ready, Gandhi?' he asked.
'No, sir,' said I, trembling with fear, 'I think of speaking ex tempore.'
'That will not do in Bombay. Reporting here is bad, and if we would
benefit by this meeting, you should write out your speech, and it
should be printed before daybreak tomorrow. I hope you can manage
this?'
I felt rather nervous, but I said I would try.
'Then, tell me, what time should Mr. Munshi come to you for the
manuscript?'
'Eleven o'clock tonight,' said I.
On going to the meeting the next day, I saw the wisdom of Sir
Pherozeshah's advice. The meeting was held in the hall of the Sir
Cowasji Jehangir Institute. I had heard that when Sir Pherozeshah
Mehta addressed meetings the hall was always packed – chiefly by the students intent on hearing him – leaving not an inch of room. This
was the first meeting of the kind in my experience. I saw that my
voice could reach only a few. I was trembling as I began to read my
speech. Sir Pherozeshah cheered me up continually by asking me to
speak louder and still louder. I have a feeling that, far from
encouraging me, it made my voice sink lower and lower.
My old friend Sjt. Keshavrao Deshpande came to my rescue. I handed
my speech to him. His was just the proper voice. But the audience
refused to listen. The hall rang with the cries of 'Wacha,' 'Wacha.'
So Mr. Wacha stood up and read the speech, with wonderful results.
The audience became perfectly quiet, and listened to the speech to
the end, punctuating it with applause and cries of 'shame' where
necessary. This gladdened my heart.
Sir Pherozeshah liked the speech. I was supremely happy.
The meeting won me the active sympathy of Sjt. Deshpande and a Parsi
friend, whose name I hesitate to mention, as he is a high-placed
Government official today. Both expressed their resolve to accompany
me to South Africa. Mr. C. M. Cursetji, who was then Small Causes
Court Judge, however, moved the Parsi friend from his resolve as he
had plotted his marriage. He had to choose between marriage and
going to South Africa, and he chose the former. But Parsi Rustomji
made amends for the broken resolve, and a number of Parsi sisters
are now making amends for the lady who helped in the breach, by
dedicating themselves to khadi work. I have therefore gladly
forgiven that couple. Sjt. Deshpande had no temptations of marriage,
but he too could not come. Today he is himself doing enough
reparation for the broken pledge. On my way back to South Africa I
met one of the Tyabjis at Zanzibar. He also promised to come and
help me, but never came. Mr. Abbas Tyabji is atoning for that
offence. Thus none of my three attempts to induce barristers to go
to South Africa bore any fruit.
In this connection I remember Mr. Pestonji Padshah. I had been on
friendly terms with him ever since my stay in England. I first met
him in a vegetarian restaurant in London. I knew of his brother Mr.
Barjorji Padshah by his reputation as a 'crank'. I had never met
him, but friends said that he was eccentric. Out of pity for the
horses he would not ride in tramcars, he refused to take degrees in
spite of a prodigious memory, he had developed an independent
spirit, and he was a vegetarian, though a Parsi. Pestonji had not
quite this reputation, but he was famous for his erudition even in
London. The common factor between us, however, was vegetarianism,
and not scholarship, in which it was beyond my power to approach him.
I found him out again in Bombay. He was Protonotary in the High
Court. When I met him he was engaged on his contribution to a Higher
Gujarati Dictonary. There was not a friend I had not approached for
help in my South African work. Pestonji Padshah, however, not only
refused to aid me, but even advised me not to return to South
Africa.
'It is impossible to help you,' he said. 'But I tell you I do not
like even your going to South Africa. Is there lack of work in our country? Look,
now, there is not a little to do for our language. I have to find
out scientific words. But this is only one branch of the work. Think
of the poverty of the land. Our people in South Africa are no doubt
in difficulty, but I do not want a man like you to be sacrificed for
that work. Let us win self-government here, and we shall
automatically help our countrymen there. I know I cannot prevail
upon you, but I will not encourage anyone of your type to throw in
his lot with you.'
I did not like this advice, but it increased my regard for Mr.
Pestonji Padshah. I was struck with his love for the country and for
the mother tongue. The incident brought us closer to each other. I
could understand his point of view. But far from giving up my work
in South Africa, I became firmer in my resolve. A patriot cannot
afford to ignore any branch of service to the motherland. And for me
the text of the Gita was clear and emphatic:
Finally, this is better, that one do
His own task as he may, even though he fail,
Than take tasks not his own, though they seem good
To die performing duty is no ill:
But who seeks other roads shall wander still.